Lichtenstein
by HyperCaz
Summary: While on a mission in Lichtenstein, Van Helsing is consumed by what he thought was cured...Can be seen as prequel to In The Night
1. Losing Control

Disclaimer: Are you kidding? I don't even own this computer!

This can be read as a prequel to my fic _In the Night_.

* * *

**Lichtenstein**

A figure crouched in the dark, examining the mud that coated the cobblestone street of Balzers, a sleepy city confronted by the brutal slaying of some of the townsfolk. The darkness shrouded the figure, but a pinprick of light sent the shadows skittering away from the tracks he studied.

"Werewolf," Identified Van Helsing and removed his pistols from their holsters.

Deliberately, he replaced the contents in the firing chamber with silver bullets, then straightened his knees to spring himself into a standing position. Van Helsing walked cautiously along the back street, unperturbed by the blanketed darkness created by the covering up of every window.

The people had reason to fear – a monster would certainly scare anyone out of their wits without even laying eyes on it. Van Helsing snorted. He was a monster himself and his name would be enough for children to weep in fear.

Movement ahead made him snap back to awareness. A maid was holding a pail of water in trembling hands, eyes fixed on him. She sobbed,

"Bitte verletzen Sie mich nicht."

_Please do not hurt me._

"Be quiet," Van Helsing told her, reverting to German, "Ich bin nicht hier, Sie zu verletzen."

_I am not here to hurt you._

He ignored her, walking past stealthily as if a shadow himself. The maid watched him go, frightened, then fled into the closest house and pulled the door shut. Her worried eyes peered out a crack in the sheets hung over a window. The Dunkler Mann, the Dark Man, was gone through the mist that rose from the evening rain.

Further along the street, Van Helsing found the mud trail come to an end. Horse hooves and cart tracks buried any unusual prints at the intersection he came to. He cursed softly as his pause sunk his boots into the mud and grime. While he collected himself, his eyes fell on the grubby wanted poster tacked to the wall opposite.

Van Helsing tore it off as he did with every wanted poster for a dark face wearing a hat and a cloth across the face. He noted with black amusement that the reward had risen since the last time he'd been near Lichtenstein or Austria.

He shook his boots of muck and walked on, pistols at the ready. He knew he should not let his thoughts wander, but they often did. Van Helsing had always prided himself devoid of distracted thoughts, but ever since Transylvania…

A strange smell slid past the baking from inside the cramped houses and the foul stench that lined the streets. It was a familiar scent and Van Helsing stopped his stride to try to identify it. A phrase he remembered came to mind.

_Why does it smell like wet dog in here_?

"Thankyou, Carl," Van Helsing muttered and scanned the nearby blocks with mistrust. For him to smell the werewolf's sodden pelt, it must be very close.

A rattling sound brought him around to face an ornate door set into a faded building. The door had not shut properly because it was half torn off the hinges. Cautiously, Van Helsing pushed the door in with one foot and entered with his pistols raised. He heard nothing but his own breathing, which sounded awfully loud in his own ears.

He could see an orange glow bouncing off the walls ahead. Van Helsing crept forwards, ready to fire a bullet between the eyes of the werewolf. He took the corner into the living room quickly and was confronted with the sight of the hunted werewolf. That wasn't all – a man was calmly sitting in a beaten arm chair by a roaring fire, stroking a chipped cup of tea.

"Ah, Herr Van Helsing," The man said slowly, his accent betraying him to be from Austria or Germany, "I have been expecting you."

Slightly unnerved by the silent, hulking werewolf, Van Helsing halted his progress into the room,

"I see you already have company. It wouldn't seem fair to intrude."

The man laughed, his skeletal face, rimmed by a goatee and scraggly grey hair, contorting as though in pain. The laugh itself was scratchy and hoarse, gratingly so. He leant forward in his chair, squinting,

"So you are the one they call the Dunkler Mann, the shadow of a man. The one, I've heard tell, who goes on bloody rampages, a vampiric creature intent of spreading his evil. I see you a merely a man."

"Me and half the world," Van Helsing countered, raising his pistols to take a shot at the werewolf, "I'm busy – can we have this talk later?"

The man's mouth widened, exposing more teeth than Van Helsing had ever seen in his life,

"I'd be…upset if you were to slay beloved Haustier, my domesticated pet."

_What I hate more than a werewolf_, Van Helsing thought passionately, _is a man who controls the said werewolf._

He lifted his chin, voice muffled as it always was through the cloth,

"Is there a pattern to the killings your _pet_ conducts on your behalf?"

"Why of course," The man chortled, "But I am being rude. I am Herr Von Schliemann. Do sit down – we have much to discuss."

"I'd rather stand."

Von Schliemann waved a dismissive hand,

"Whatever suits you best. I have a proposition for you, Herr Van Helsing. I am a man interested in power over Balzers, but politics is a little out of my league. I believe force would be a more direct and efficient approach. Of course, Haustier and I cannot take control of the city without any other help. We need an icon of fear on our side."

Van Helsing glared at him,

"I will not consider such a notion. I would sooner spear your head on a stake set on the battlements of this city."

"Well, I cannot say I did not try, Herr Van Helsing," Von Schliemann said forlornly, "I'll have to set Haustier on you."

Van Helsing was already firing at the werewolf. He threw his body out of the way of the beast, nearly landing in the fire, and jumped to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. Von Schliemann watched this all with no concern at all on his face. He merely smiled wickedly.

The werewolf howled in rage as silver bullets sprinkled his front. The monster shoved aside the armchair that his master was in to get to the hunter, growling with anger. Van Helsing rolled to the side and resisted the urge to wince as Haustier smashed a hole in the plaster wall.

He chased after the werewolf through the hole, firing his pistols intensely. After a blind dash out, he was thrown to one side by a powerful paw. Van Helsing shook his head, pushing his hat back on,

"Nice doggy. Come to me; I've got a nice silver bone for you."

The werewolf paused for a moment, then leapt back into action as more bullets ripped into its body. Van Helsing again rolled to the side to avoid being pounded and drew out a silver stick as long as one of his pistols. He twisted it and a sharp blade shot out of its end. He brandished it out as a sword and kept his balance carefully.

The monster watched him warily, intelligence sparking in its eyes. It stayed ten metres away in what appeared to be a dining hall, almost daring for the hunter to come after him.

_Great. A smart werewolf_, Van Helsing sighed.

As the creature came at him, he raised the stake but was batted through the wall into another room. Overcome by a dizzy spell that had resulted from smacking his head on the ground, Van Helsing blinked several times. He heard Von Schliemann laughing and saying,

"Good boy, Haustier, good boy."

The world spun. Van Helsing felt his feet leave the ground, accompanied by a sickening lurch in his stomach. His vision cleared to show the werewolf snarling at him, a paw tightening around his throat, the claws digging in. Van Helsing counted himself lucky none of them had pierced the jugular vein. He choked breaths in and out, steadily finding it harder.

To his dismay he realised he had dropped the silver stake. He had only one pistol in his hands and clicked the trigger to find the gun empty. Van Helsing fought against the werewolf's grip, but his vision was blackening.

"Kill him, Haustier! Finish the job!" Von Schliemann crowed.

Van Helsing was angry with the man, the beast and himself. He'd been in worse situations and come out better. And the worst would have been Transylvania, he admitted. There had been Anna, dead at the same hands that had slain countless others in the few years he'd been commissioned for the Holy Order.

It wasn't fair! His life was NEVER in his control. Anger and sorrow rushed through him and Van Helsing emitted a throaty growl. He closed his eyes briefly and, when they reopened, they burnt a bright, feral gold. He found strength filling his limbs and pried the paw easily away from his throat.

Van Helsing felt his skin smoulder, felt the power rushing into him. He welcomed it gladly yet when he went to yell in triumph, he was emitted as an ear splitting howl. Haustier's ears flicked backwards and forwards. There was no longer a man in front of him, but a midnight black werewolf.

"KILL HIM!" Roared Von Schliemann, though terror now shot through the man's eyes. He could not fathom it – Europe's most wanted man had just turned into a werewolf.

Haustier and Van Helsing regarded each other with a strange sort of familiarity. An understanding passed between them. Both turned onto Von Schliemann, intent on tearing the man to shreds. The Austrian had no chance as they bore down on him.

* * *

The city quaked in fear that night, with the sounds of two monsters in their midst. The maid that had seen the Dark Man watched the street for him to return, to slice the throats of those in her household. He never came…

* * *

Van Helsing woke in the dawn light, unsure of where he was. He prodded his mind, which seemed unwilling to give up his memory, as usual. At least he knew who he was. Somewhere in the dim dark recesses of his stubborn mind, he knew that Von Schliemann was nothing to worry about. He knew by looking around that he was on a roof.

_Why don't I remember killing the werewolf_? Van Helsing demanded of himself.

Chills swept down his body as a gust of wind blew onto him. Van Helsing drew together his shredded coat, feeling alarmed. Why couldn't he remember anything past being choked to death?

Then he saw Haustier sleeping like the proverbial puppy, snoring loudly. That's what the gust of wind had been. Van Helsing began to feel sick in the stomach. He looked down at his hands and realised, with a lurch, that fur dotted down his arms and legs. He was only partially human.

"Oh, Lord," He said helplessly.

Van Helsing breathed slowly and tried to visualise his human ways again, his sanity. As he tried, his mind threw him flashes of the night before…the man he'd clawed to death…Sanity leapt out of his grasp. Van Helsing felt like howling with frustration, but he checked himself.

What linked him to his sanity?

He remembered Anna Valerious with pain, Count Dracula with anger. No, those memories would only aggravate the situation. He cast his mind around and it landed on the Vatican. Dim hatred surged through him. Van Helsing become panicked, but suddenly he smelt the rain, smelt Haustier, and heard the words that he'd heard from the night before.

_Why does it smell like wet dog in here_?

"Carl!" He exclaimed and concentrated on remembering the friar.

Carl was absent-minded, worked too hard and was afraid of anything that moved. He was so unsuited to being a friar it brought tears of mirth to Van Helsing's eyes. The hunter again looked at his hands and found them free of any fur. He breathed slowly.

He found some silver bullets rattling around the pockets of his worn jacket – the only article of clothing he still had on him – and drove them into the werewolf mercilessly with new strength. Van Helsing found himself whimpering dog-like with pain as the silver burnt rashes into his hands.

Haustier struggled, but injuries from the night before caught up with him and a man appeared in his place, gasping,

"Van Helsing, Sie Mörder."

_Van Helsing, you murderer._

The hunter looked away. He murmured a Latin prayer then went about scavenging clothes from the surrounding washing that drifted on the roof. He was shaking. He knew now that he had not been cured.

_Anna died for nothing!_ He thought furiously.

He felt heat shoot through his eyes. Shards of a mirror offered his reflection – golden eyes full of bitterness. Van Helsing rubbed his eyes furiously. He would overcome this. The Vatican didn't need to know. They'd see him as a monster, like the ones he'd been hunting for them.

_Like a faithful dog._

Van Helsing felt truly frightened for the first time in his life. He could feel the beast within, wanting to escape. He closed his eyes in concentration and willed the werewolf that lay in wait to stay that way – in a self repressed limbo. He knew that he could not hold it for long…

* * *

"Van Helsing!" Carl wailed in dismay, "How is it that you don't take proper care of your equipment?"

The hunter feigned a casual shrug,

"I lost it, that's all."

_Along with my innocent ignorance of still being plagued with this curse!_

Carl seemed to only notice his strange attire. The friar raised an eyebrow,

"Have you been wearing that all the way from Balzers in Lichtenstein to here!?"

Van Helsing felt heat coming to his cheeks. Relieved that the subject of lost equipment was over, he allowed a faint blush to come. Of course, if you'd worn a frilly cocktail dress across a few countries, you'd have to forget about your troubles for a few moments. At least.

He was more than happy to find that the last silver bullet he had on him did not burn his raw red hands like it had done in Lichtenstein.

The beast lay within, biding its time…waiting for its master to let it out…


	2. Regaining Control

Disclaimer: Gone, due to lack of interest.

AN: I wasn't going to continue this, but it needed some closure and, as a prequel to _In the Night_, it needed to cover a few things.

* * *

Over the next week, Van Helsing received no end of sly comments relating to what he ignorantly wore all the way from Lichtenstein. Not only were there hints of amusement in everyone's eyes to haunt him, there was theCardinal's suspicion in his vague report of the werewolf. This suspicion constantly drove Jinette to _innocently_ asking questions with hidden probes.

Van Helsing had outlined the intentions of Von Schliemann as best he could, but the ensuing details of how he dealt with Haustier were a little sketchy. As no special windows had been shattered, Van Helsing surmised he would get away clean. However, the earlier patchy report on the Dracula mission - cleverly collaborated by Carl - was more than enough to awaken Cardinal Jinette's growing concern.

The Cardinal even opted to seek Carl out in his laboratory and ask after Van Helsing - who never took the time between missions to venture outside the Vatican.

"I suspect he is hiding in embarrassment," Carl answered absently, eyes locked on whatever it was lying on the bench in front of him.

The Cardinal examined some of the latest contraptions in what bordered on alarm. He cleared his throat and continued his queries,

"Have you noticed anything unusual about Van Helsing since his return from Balzers?"

"Apart from shame?" Snickered Carl for a moment, then stirred into thoughtfulness, "He is rather withdrawn - more so than usual, I mean. It seems he is trying to keep himself under control."

Jinette nodded, pensive,

"Very good. I want you to keep an eye on him."

As the Cardinal became a wisp around the corner, Carl set aside his equipment, frowning. Now that he remembered it, Van Helsing _was_ being very odd. Odd for a nightmare haunted monster hunter, that is.

* * *

Van Helsing was in neighbouring Rome. He was sitting quietly among the rooves of a small residential side of the city, trying to collect his thoughts. For a week now, he had been coming here to breathe deeply, free of Vatican City - even though it was not that far away geographically. The events of Balzers plagued him constantly and here was the only place he could find solace.

He had discovered that anger shed a gold tint into his eyes and that, when further pressed, his skin would begin to itch relentlessly. Every night he come here, shedding his boots and cloak, practising. Van Helsing knew he was not cured. The despair slammed into him with brutal force as he thought, not for the first time,

_Anna died for nothing._

Van Helsing drew in a breath, refusing to let the pain draw the beast out of him.

"No," He commanded it, holding down the werewolf as hard as he could.

He knew that pain and anger was the key to his transformations. He also knew it would be very dangerous for his continued safety for the slightest moment of either to have him break out in fur. When grief or fury swamped him, he wanted to be able to deal with it.

Van Helsing dredged every memory he could of Anna Valerious to his mind and let it overflow into his heart. The itching began in his hands and feet, signalling failure of control. The hunter pictured the flesh that encompassed him, _not_ the fur that shouldn't.

Suddenly, his mind was filled with that painful image...holding her lifeless body in his arms, the shed fur sprinkled at his feet. Van Helsing refused to be panicked in the face of losing control. He opened his eyes and coolly explored the massive paws that his hands had become. He was not completely transformed, but he could feel his ears had shifted up his scalp somewhat.

A quick look in the nearby propped up mirror confirmed this. Van Helsing marvelled at how vicious his features were, half transformed. He closed his eyes and envisioned his humanity. He hunted this kind, he was separate from them. Monsters, beasts. He was human. Different. Upon checking his reflection again, he was satisfied at finding a full human staring back at him.

"Let's try that again," Van Helsing spoke to the beast inside him calmly, "This time, you will not win."

* * *

It was incredibly early in the morning when Van Helsing returned to the Vatican. He walked through the deserted underground, feeling less trapped by the monotonous familiarity than was usual. The satisfaction of holding back the beast while engulfed in grief was enough to satiate him for today.

He was surprised to find Carl in full swing, peering through those awkward magnifying goggles keenly. Van Helsing smiled to himself. Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised. Perhaps Carl had always woken at this time if the inspiration struck him.

"It's three in the morning," Van Helsing supplied when the friar searched for an implement of time, "You should be sleeping or praying or something."

Carl leapt a foot in the air. He scowled,

"I'm a friar, dammit, I can do what I want. And what's your excuse for being awake?"

Van Helsing smirked,

"Did you have a nightmare, Carl?"

"I don't have to answer that," Snapped Carl, a vague shade of pink painting his face, "But while you're here, tell me what you think of this."

The inventor brandished a pistol from a dual set. It looked very much like the ones the hunter already carried, but a quick inspection proved first observations otherwise. Carl beamed,

"You're always complaining about the dismal range of your pistols. Not as much power as your shotgun, but the range is fairly equal now."

"Hmm," Van Helsing muttered, trying hard not to look impressed.

The friar stabbed a finger at his chest,

"At least give me the praise I deserve!"

"Humility is a good value, even for a friar," Van Helsing countered sweetly, "Why don't we trade? I'll give you a compliment if you pretend you never saw me."

Carl crossed his arms,

"Only if you tell me where your mysterious wanderings take you."

"Rome," The hunter replied simply.

"Be more specific."

"Wedged in between a few rooves."

"Doing what?"

"That wasn't part of the deal," Van Helsing pointed out, "You only wanted to know where I went. Alright, Carl, the new pistols are very good. Your ingenuity never fails to amaze me."

Carl looked pleased,

"Really?"

"Now you can forget I was ever here - and that I ever said that."

"Oh, that's difficult," Carl bit his lip, a twinkle in his eyes.

Van Helsing gave a deep throated growl which robbed Carl of his bravado. The friar raised his hands in a peace gesture,

"Now, if you weren't cured of the werewolf curse I might then be frightened."

The tremor in his voice suggested otherwise.

_If only he knew_, Van Helsing thought bitterly as he walked away, feeling his eyes heat up, knowing they were turning gold.

* * *

"Wedged in between rooves in Rome?" The Cardinal repeated, far from impressed, "That is _all_ you managed to procure? I'd more like to know what time he came in last night, what he was doing, that sort of thing."

He had once again caught Carl at his most vague - in the laboratory. The friar looked up and merely shrugged,

"How would I know? I sleep and I work. I pray, too," He added hastily.

As Jinette walked away, Carl dared to make a quick face at him before returning to his latest invention.

* * *

Van Helsing thought he was making progress. He mastered his grief and anger well, never once letting the beast out involuntarily. He could now transform at will, but not because of dredging up painful memories. It seemed he had made some sort of pact with the beast. In return for control, he wouldfree thebeast out for a few glorious minutes.

He came to enjoy the freedom that came with it. He could hear and smell so acutely - even without taking the wolf form. This would be a great asset when on missions, he decided. Van Helsing allowed himself a few moments of rest, looking up at the sky.

"I wonder," He mused aloud, "If I could transform different parts separately."

Abandoning the rest, Van Helsing stared at his hands and willed them into paws. It was easy enough - apart from his eyes, it was the first thing that changed in the transformation. He watched the claws shrink into pink fingers again. He focused on his ears. It was hard at first, but finally - he could tell by keeping his eyes trained on the mirror - the ears perched amongst his black hair without his hands changing.

Van Helsing was startled by how exhausted he felt. He yawned,

"Let's call it a nig...day."

* * *

Van Helsing's body forced him to sleep from the time he returned to the Vatican to early afternoon. Unimpressed by how time got away from him, the summons to see Jinette only dampened his mood even more. He ignored the summons and crawled back into bed - something he never did.

He lay there, feeling at ease. Perhaps sleeping in wasn't so bad after all.

"I deserve it," Van Helsing muttered into his pillow.

He still felt the hangover of success. He felt confident that he could use the...curse...for good, use it in his hunt for monsters and beasts. Van Helsing smiled to himself - a werewolf hunting werewolves! Now that was an amusing thought. He was then shocked by how flippant he was handling this.

Again, he said softly,

"I deserve it."

The weight of the curse had darkened him for too long. Now he felt...free. Light. And he wanted to holler his success around the Vatican. Van Helsing sighed. The whole place would probably come after him with loads of silver.

_Not that silver harms me much in human form_, He reflected, snorting.

Who could he tell then? No one was the safest option. No one needed to know whatsoever. He didn't trust anyone terribly much and betrayal could be fatal here. The Vatican wouldn't just slap him on the wrist and say "now wasn't that naughty, you're a werewolf". They'd first demand how he was bitten, draw out how Anna Valerious died, then kill him.

"Hm, fun," Van Helsing commented, pulling himself out of bed, "I'd leave enough fur for them to be sweeping the floors for months."

He caught sight of the new pistols lying on the small table in his room. Carl had been in at one point, then. The friar had been spending more time awake than usual. Well, usual for a rabid inventor, that is. Van Helsing briefly wondered if his joke about Carl having nightmares wasn't too far from the truth.

This made him remember Lichtenstein. The only thing that had linked him to his sanity then...was Carl. Van Helsing paused as he holstered the pistols. He owed it to Carl, really - the friar had indirectly saved him that night.

"Oh no," He remarked dryly, sarcastically, "I made a friend."

He had to admit it. Carl wasn't just that blustering friar. Over the whole Transylvanian mission, he had become a friend. Van Helsing promised that after whatever blasteddeed Cardinal Jinette wanted him carry out, he would tell Carl the true story about Lichtenstein.

Van Helsing sighed. Just like any other week doing God's bidding...and like they say, if God gives you lemons, go make lemonade. So if God makes you a werewolf and doesn't have someone nail you, use your powers well.

* * *

Fin - really, this time.

Now that the prequel is finished, I can get on updating _In The Night_. You're all welcome to read it, of course...teehee.


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